Friday, July 4, 2014

Spotlight : Author Florence Osmund presents highly acclaimed and widely read novels - The Coach House and Red Clover

Dear readers,   
Today's special spotlight is on three-time BRAG Medallion Honoree author Florence Osmund and her superbly written, widely read novels - The Coach House and Red Clover both available at Amazon (Kindle and Paperback) . The Coach House with 170+ reviews and Red Clover with 60+ reviews have been highly acclaimed by readers worldwide. We'll learn more about her and her novels in this special spotlight today.

Author Links : Connect with author Florence Osmund 

After more than three decades of experience in corporate America, Florence Osmund retired to write novels. Her website is dedicated primarily to helping new authors—offering advice she wishes she had received before she started writing her first book. Osmund currently resides in Chicago where she is working on her next novel.

Author's website :

Twitter handle : @florenceosmund


Author's Achievements and Awards :

The Coach House – 2012 B.R.A.G. Medallion honoree 

Daughters – 2013 B.R.A.G. Medallion honoree

Red Clover – 2014 Indie Book of the Day award 

Book Spotlight 1


Author : Florence Osmund

Genre : Literary Fiction, Family-Relationships,Women's Fiction

Formats : Kindle, Paperback and E Pub

Reviews : 170+ reviews with multiple 5 stars

Synopsis : May, 1948. Marie Marchetti flees Chicago and her devoted husband when she realizes he is immersed in local corruption, only to discover itʾs the identity of her real father and his ethnicity that unexpectedly change her life more than her husband ever could. 

Chapter Excerpt - The Coach House


He stood on the busy sidewalk at the corner of State and Randolph streets and watched the young woman walk around the Marshall Field’s department store window display in her stocking feet. The hem of her blue satiny dress swirled around her as she moved, touching the back of her calves with each step, calling attention to her Betty Grable legs, and making him forget the original purpose for his being in this part of town. He strained to get a look at her face, but she was preoccupied with her work, oblivious to him and all the other pedestrians bustling around Chicago’s busy Loop.
He watched her position and reposition the stiff mannequin. After looking around to see if any other passersby were observing him observing her, he moved closer to the center of the window. At twenty-five, Richard had had his share of girlfriends, every one of them a beauty, but none as captivating as her. What do I have to do to get your attention, gorgeous? He cased her left hand for a wedding band. C’mon, sweetheart. Look my way.
When she finally noticed him, he froze for an instant, grabbed his chest with an open palm, and smiled. Her glossy close-to-black hair softly framed her flawless olive-skinned face and accentuated her deep-set whiskey brown eyes. His heart raced.
Exerting his best charm, Richard proceeded to give her hand signals to point out which way he thought she should position the mannequin. Try uncrossing her legs, he pantomimed. Now put her arm across the back of the sofa.
The young woman gave him a puzzled look at first and then smiled back at him. He beamed when he saw her face redden as she tried to follow his directions. She looked at him for approval each time she rearranged an arm or leg, a reaction that encouraged him even more.
After several attempts, she took a couple of steps back to look at her handiwork and then shook her head. He couldn’t help but laugh. The mannequin didn’t look anything like a happy housewife relaxing in the front room listening to the radio while dinner was cooking in her brand-new 1944 Tappan Deluxe six-burner double oven.
With her back toward him, she continued her work. When he thought he couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer, he tapped on the window, causing her to jump. He took off his Fedora and held it to his chest, gave her his best smile, and mouthed, “Can we meet?” The awkward moment that followed didn’t deter him. He gave her a slow wink and then gestured toward the door.
She looked at him for a long moment before revealing any response. Her narrowed eyes and tilted head told him she was dubious of his suggestion. He smiled at her again. Come on, sweetheart, please don’t make me beg.
“Okay,” she mouthed back and then disappeared through a concealed door at the back of the display window.

Book Spotlight 2


Author : Florence Osmund

Genre : Literary Fiction, Family-Relationships

Formats : Kindle, Paperback and E Pub

Amazon Stores :

Reviews : 65+ reviews with multiple 5 stars

Synopsis : The troubled son of a callous father and socialite mother determines his own meaning of success after learning shocking family secrets that cause him to rethink who he is and where heʼs going.

Amazon Reviews

Goodreads Reviews

Chapter Excerpt - Red Clover

Excerpt from Chapter 1

Eight-year-old Lee Winekoop entered the front parlor to find his mother sitting in her favorite Louis XV chair reading an issue of Town & Country. An identical chair occupied the space immediately next to it for his father. Without knowing why, Lee had never liked those chairs, nor the room they were in. The parlor—with its twelve-foot ornate ceiling and stilted furniture—made him feel tiny, unimportant, and uncomfortable. But then he didn’t feel very comfortable anywhere in the eighteen-room lakefront mansion in the wealthiest section of Evanston, Illinois.
Her black hair was pulled back into a perfectly coiffed bun at the nape of her neck, and the cultured pearl necklace Lee’s father had given her years ago lay flat upon her flawless ivory skin. She did not bother to look up from her magazine.
“Where’s Kate?”
He ignored her question as to his nanny’s whereabouts and did not allow the queasy feeling in his stomach to stop him from asking the question that had been on his mind for a long time.
“Why are Nelson and Bennett so much older than me?”
His mother sighed and momentarily lifted her gaze from the magazine. “Older than I, dear.”
Why does she care about grammar when I’m trying to figure out something this important?
“Older than I, then. Why is that?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Lee.”
His stomach began to churn. “Nelson was born in 1950 and Bennett just two years after that. Then it was another eight years until I was born. They’re so close to each other, and then there’s me. Why is that?”
She looked past him, as if searching for the answer. After a long pause, she said, “It just happened that way. Not all children are spaced evenly apart.” She made a face he knew all too well when she didn’t want to deal with something. “Where is that woman?”
“They have dark hair, and mine is light.”
“That happens in families.”
“And I have green eyes.”
“Your father—”
“No, Mother. Father has hazel eyes.” Lee’s heart was pounding. A child interrupting an adult while talking was forbidden in his family. “Did you want me when I was born?”
His mother’s pursed lips and stone-faced stare told him he might have gone too far with that one. He hoped she would answer the question but was afraid at the same time.
Her face softened. “Of course I wanted you.”
“Do you know what my initials spell?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Think about it, Mother. My name is Lee Oliver Winekoop. My initials spell L-O-W. Did you know that when you named me?”
She shifted her petite body in the chair and frowned. “What on earth has gotten into you? Maybe I need to make a special appointment with Dr. Jerry. Are you feeling all right?”
She was referring to Dr. Jerry Osgood, the psychologist Lee had been seeing for two years, to make him more like his brothers he thought. What his mother didn’t know was how much he was already trying to be like them.
He almost laughed aloud at her question. When did he ever feel all right?
“Nelson’s initials spell N-E-W.”
“And Bennett’s are B-M-W. Mine spell out L-O-W. Why did you do that to me, Mother?”
“Lee, you’re being overly sensitive. I’m sure...that is...I never gave any thought to what your initials would spell out when I named you. I wish you would stop being so querulous.”
“Who was Nelson named after?” Lee knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.
She shifted her gaze to something across the room and hesitated a moment before responding. “Uncle Nelson. Why do you ask?”
“Who was Bennett named after?”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “What difference does it make?”
“It was Grandfather, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said. She appeared as if she was about to sneeze. Lee waited for that to happen, and when it didn’t, he asked the question that interested him the most.
“So who was I named after?”
She stared into Lee’s eyes for several seconds before answering. “No one in particular, dear, I just fancied the name.” The wistful look on her face wasn’t one Lee had ever seen before.
“So you took the time to name them after someone special in the family, but when it came time to name me, you just picked some old name? And Lee is a girl’s name anyway.”
“Now you’re being impertinent, young man. Did it occur to you that perhaps someone... Sometimes a family name can be... Where is Kate?” she asked, her face twitching with frustration.
Lee ignored her sensitivity to his questions and continued with his mission to get to the bottom of what had been bothering him for months. He shifted his weight.
“Do you know what happened on the day Nelson was born?” he asked.
“Yes, it was unbearably hot. I was nearly overcome by heat on the way to the hospital, and then I had to endure two hours of exasperating labor.”
She doesn’t get it.
“Do you know what else happened?”
She dabbed her brow with the monogrammed lace handkerchief she carried in her sleeve. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“There was a doctor right here in Chicago who did the first kidney transplant.”
She took in a deep breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“And on the day Bennett was born, Mickey Mantle hit his first grand-slammer.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “That’s nice, dear. What’s a grand-slammer?”
“Guess what happened on the day I was born.”
The little color she had in her face disappeared. “Please don’t aggravate this occasion by making me guess, Lee. What difference do all these trivialities make?”
“On my birthday, The Flintstones was on television for the first time.” He studied his mother’s face for a reaction. “Don’t you understand? That’s the most important thing that happened on my birthday. That’s all they could come up with for that day.”
“That’s all who could come up with?”
“Whoever puts together the list of important things that happen on each day. I checked it out at the library. It’s all there in black and white.”
“Lee, mothers have no control over what day their children are born. And I certainly did not have any knowledge of or influence over Mickey Mantle or The Flankstones or any other cultural phenomenon. What is your point?” Then she began to “shout,” which for her meant speaking at a volume just above a whisper. “Kate! Where are you?”
A sudden whiff of her perfume made him feel faint. He backed away from her.
“It’s The Flintstones, Mother. It’s a silly cartoon show. It just seems kind of funny, that’s all.”
“Are you saying that if you were born one day sooner or one day later, it may have been advantageous for you in some way?”
“All I know is that if I had been born sooner, I wouldn’t be so far behind.”
“Behind what?”
“Nelson and Bennett.”
“It’s not a race, dear. And you shouldn’t be comparing yourself to them—they are from...they’re much...older and they’ll...”
“And they’ll what? Amount to something someday, but I won’t?”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Father said it first, Mother.”
“Lee, dear, you’re special to us. You’re not like Nelson or Bennett, and we don’t expect you to be. And it’s your own aspirations that will determine what you do in life.”
He broke off eye contact with her and turned to walk away but then stopped and turned to face her again. “And then there’s Uncle Nelson’s birthday gifts. How do you explain that?” he asked before turning away from her.
“I’ll call Dr. Jerry in the morning,” she said to his back.
“If it makes you feel better, Mother,” he mumbled.

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